Shopping Labels: love ‘em. And I’ll have as many of them as I can get. And I don’t care what they’re pinned, popped, stapled, taped or tied to. Face creme. Hipsters. Phones. Washing Machines. Waiters. Sun-loungers. Crappafrappaccinolates.

Labels are the living proof that I’m living the dream. Or should I say shopping it. And loving it.

The more kit I have the better I feel. Because I’ve got kit. Shiny new smelling kit. Look at shiny me! Shining is all I want to do as a stand-up living, loving human being. Shiny means my love is cutting the mustard in the world: I’m providing.

I’m buying like and love at a check out and it feels great. I’m buying branded hotness, smarts, and friends.Seriously, look at my slidy swipy interface app. I’m nailing it. I’m searching for love through an animated Gif. Nice. Add to Basket. Go to Checkout

Got stuff. Give stuff.

Sorry, hang on; let me just put you on speakerphone so every one can hear how on it we are. “Where? The British Virgin Islands? Surprised they let you in babe! Bahh ha ha ha. See you Friday. LOL. XOXOXOXOXO”

Stuff is how I spread the love. Christmas. Valentines. Mother’s Day. Birthdays. Love is a huge pink heart made up of bar codes with a matching card and wrapping paper.

Shop unto others as you would shop unto yourself!

Super Market Super Me. Veg isn’t just veg. 3 for 2 salad bags isn’t just 3 of their 5 a day – its a protestation of love. The cheese. Those breaded fish pieces. Olives with the little red things inside. The lot. The smell of the Ocado bags. Smell my love. The air is heavy with it.

That detergent, the super citrus one I use to wash their clothes, that’s liquid love in a tumble dryer. I could give a serial killer a run for their money in the detergents, bleaches and abrasive disinfectants department. Every one of them is an individual price marked gesture of my love for my family and the squeaky gorgeous life I want them to have. How could I not remove 99% of all germs? What kind of people are you? How could I allow my carpet not to smell of the perfume of a thousand roses. Those roses died for our home to smell like this! Have some respect.

Breakfast cereal? Its more than a bloody cereal. Check out the advert! It’s a highly nutritious hug is what it is. Just because I don’t have time to give one, at least the cereal can. Each one of those boxes is a proxy for my love. Snap crackle and hug that’s what I say. And while we’re at it: send my children out into the cold without a glowing defence shield of warm loving oats? Murderer.

My love is infinite. Resealable. Refillable. Recyclable.

And I can prove it. Look at the balance on my Nectar card and tell me I am not the most loving person around.

I’m a goes around comes around kind of person. Always happy to, you know, do our bit for the planet…just don’t charge me extra! Love the planet. And that Attenborough chap. He’s lovely.

Hang on… feels a little rubbish with everyone’s face stuck in a screen. And feeling a little lonely if the truth be told. Need to update my facebook status. But it means having to check out their third set of holiday pictures this year…I mean its only bloody May. Does he work for Thomsons or something?

Right. Family outing.

OOhh I feel a quick weekend turn around Westfield coming on! Come on every one, in the car, I want to check out that new home cinema set up and your mum wants to nip into Kurt Geiger to try on some post-modern, highly ironic stripper shoes (and I don’t mean the decorating kind!).

3DS? What d’you need your DS for? Oh go on then … quickly.

Westfield.

LOVE the screech of my low profile sports spec tyres as I one-finger-turn in their car park – the sheer weight of those oh so safe tyres turning on my lighter-than-air super-computed steering system. Hell, the car parks itself.

Tell you what though, think I must try harder, I’m slipping. Look at ‘em. Is it me or have all the kids permanently got a face like a slapped arse?

Not even sure if they like me. God, they must like me. We’re bezzy mates. Shopping together and everything. We even have the same face book friends.

You OK? School’s OK? Isn’t it? I’m sure they’re OK – aren’t they? I think I might buy them an education just like the one in Harry Potter – well, they loved the films and you know, always a little space on a credit card somewhere…!

Pricey? Yup, but you know, as the saying goes ‘Short time Living, Long time Debt’ – stick it on a card. Cant take it with you, it’s your credit, you’ve earned it.

Blimey, where was I – holiday – better not mess up the booking. I’ve so booking nailed it. See the love in their eyes when they enter the resort. That’s us that is.

Well I felt like a criminal – when she said that her mate at school didn’t just go to Disneyland – she was actually IN the Disney holiday advert; in it; you know the one where all the children screech and scream when the parents reveal they’re going to Disneyland.

Well I couldn’t say no after that. OK, you’re going to drop three grand but look at their little faces – I couldn’t not. Where’s the Barclaycard? No, thats the VISA, the Barclaycard… it was with the MBNA one – I used them to get the sofa and those garden chairs.

Just got to face it – you spoil them, don’t you. And I quite like a few treats for myself. I’m worth it. Nan says we’re soft and need to get over ourselves. She gets a bit worked up about our spending. So we bought her one of those Tesco Finest Chocolate Mousse things to cheer her up. Not cheap. But it is Finest. Says it on the box there.

I’m a lover not a fighter

OK, so I’m a bit soft. I want them to have nice things (that bloody nursery paint cost a fortune but you know, first ever bedroom!!).

Sure, I could save up, but you never know what’s around the corner. Could be dead tomorrow. And Pensions! Don’t talk about pensions. Your pension’s just as likely to go down in value once that lot in the City have had their way with it.

House is our pension love. So best get yourself down to B&Q sharpish and get some power tools and fix all the stuff needs fixing then.

No, I want my lot to have the best. I don’t want to feel like some penny-pinching tightwad, especially with old ‘smug as you like’ over the road with his shiny new everything. Sure he nicks it all.

Mmmn. Not sure what to do with all those txt alerts from the bank though. Delete. Wait till the letter turns red. Then I’ll worry about it. Sunny. Haven’t used them. Look alright in the advert. Like that song. Wonder if they still send you a red final demand in the post if you’ve gone paperless?

Oh, well. Sure it must be about drink o clock by now.

Living The Dream – LTD Org – is dedicated to finding a new narrative and framework for an aspirational yet affordable UK lifestyle that doesn’t bankrupt us, our children and the planet we live on. Until then we’ll just have to put up and make do with the under-whelming, over-stretched, highly-conflicted muddle-along one we have now.

In a world that only seems to celebrate the gold-plated, flush away consumption of Kim and Kanye, Wayne Rooney’s shopping potential and the gold-plated Lamborghini collection of a playboy oil billionaire, trying to Live the Dream of smarter, lighter life might seem a rather hopeless task.

Why find meaning within your means when everyone and everything seems to be screaming ‘Go Large!’ regardless of whether they or you can afford it or not.

But hope springs eternal. And the odd shining example of how to make the most of what you have to both individual and collective benefit without bankrupting yourself in the process does pop up in the strangest of places.

The world of football for example.

If what’s going on at the moment is anything to go by, football is in danger of becoming a metaphor for the societal benefit of turning away from vulgar money fixations and look-at-me consumption to something a little more meaningful and precious. Something we seemed to have lost along the way.

In a world riddled with corruption, larger-than-life living, vulgar displays of wealth and riches and a blatant almost criminal disregard for the everyday people that the sport should belong to – we have Leicester. The Foxes.

If anyone is currently Living The Dream it’s Leicester.

Andreotti has proven himself to be the shrewdest of the Mr Foxes, thriftily shaping one of the most balanced teams in the sport, and for roughly the same amount of money as Wayne Rooney earns in a couple of months.

The Reaction. Remarkable. Suddenly the football collective voice is being heard. Sam Diss of Shortlist Magazine recently reported hearing a Crystal Palace fan tell a Leicester fan to ‘Win it for us’ when their teams met.

Us. There it is. Shining like a beacon. Deafening in its quiet criticism of a beautiful game turned ugly by greed and profligacy. The collective voice of the everyday football fans who believe that football is bigger than any one footballer. Bigger than any club ‘brand’. And who hark back to a time when watching your favourite game enriched your life not bankrupted it.

Once football was the perfect pleasure – a joy to play or watch at any level – and wholly in the means of the fans who made the clubs what they are today. But far from enriching them, football now seems only to enrage and impoverish them – and not just financially. The game is becoming increasingly spiritually bankrupt. Morals and ethics seem to disappear out the Transfer Window. Money talks. And everyone else has to shut up and listen – and swallow it regardless of how patently twisted it is.

“Boof. Eat my Goal” said Alan Partridge.

But now “Who Ate All the Goals?” might seem a more appropriate chant from the terraces towards the ‘fat cat’ players, managers and owners that seem to openly mock the average working football fan with their displays of wealth.

There is little to separate the vulgar disparity between the salaries of CEOs and those of their employees and that which exists between footballers and the communities they are supposed to represent and entertain.

So whether Leicester ‘win it’ it or not is less about a football game and more about hope. A hope that the money doesn’t always win. And it doesn’t always make things better. And that a collective spirit can change things. And do the impossible.

My hope lies in this collective spirit wishing and willing Leicester on in the belief that some things are more beautiful and more important than ugly money.

Just imagine – if football can turn away from its current vulgar grasping and increasingly ill-affordable guise, perhaps other aspects of our everyday lifestyle and how we consume it might change too.

Living the Dream might start to mean enjoying life in a construct that isn’t loaded onto 5 credit cards and backed up with a payday loan; and riddled with disappointment even at that.

In the close of the same article Diss cites Iain Mackintosh, die-hard UK football writer, as saying that Leicester City pulling this off will change everything – and not just the Premier League. “This could change the dynamic of humanity itself”.